


388. road untaken

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [104]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: All the snow around the cabin in Iceland is completely unmarked, like Sarah and Helena and Kendall and Siobhan didn’t just tramp through it a few weeks ago. It’s like no one in the world has ever existed except – Sarah-Helena-Kendall-Siobhan-Kira-Cal – the six of them. Helena stands by the window sometimes and watches the way nothing moves. It’s nice.





	

All the snow around the cabin in Iceland is completely unmarked, like Sarah and Helena and Kendall and Siobhan didn’t just tramp through it a few weeks ago. It’s like no one in the world has ever existed except – Sarah-Helena-Kendall-Siobhan-Kira-Cal – the six of them. Helena stands by the window sometimes and watches the way nothing moves. It’s nice.

She likes Iceland. Mostly this is because Iceland has Sarah, and Kira, and therefore her family and everyone she loves. But also because it is quiet.

She’s always the first one awake; mother- _sestra_ doesn’t wake until noon, Sarah-and-Kira-and-Cal will sleep in late sometimes, and Siobhan wakes up early but not dawn-early the way Helena does. So Helena has the mornings to herself, sweaters and socks and the tea she is still learning how to make. (Mostly it is cold water with a tea bag, but she’s learning.) She doesn’t mind the nightmares, if they give her this: sitting in a chair with a blanket pulled over her knees, hands warm (sometimes) from the mug she cradles gently and knows she won’t drop. It’s good.

This morning is just like every other morning, except the door creaks open and shut very quietly and Sarah is there. Which makes it better than other mornings, because: Sarah is there.

“Good morning,” Helena says quietly. She doesn’t say _nightmares?_ and Sarah doesn’t say _yeah_ but the space where that conversation could happen is there, and it’s warm, and it’s quiet. Sarah nods greeting at her and pads over to the stovetop. She puts her hand to the kettle.

“You didn’t boil the water again,” she says in a sleep-rasp.

“No,” Helena says peacefully. She takes a drink of her cold teabag water. It still tastes nice, if you add enough sugar.

Sarah grunts, fills the kettle, turns on the stove and huddles in a grumpy sleepy mass in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Helena gets up, pads over to her, drags a chair next to her and drapes her blanket so it covers both of their shoulders. Sarah tugs it around herself and lets her head rest on Helena’s shoulder with a sigh.

“Can’t help feelin’ like I should go back,” she mutters into Helena’s neck, and that’s how Helena knows she hasn’t slept. When Sarah’s all the way awake she doesn’t talk about the others – doesn’t with a steadfast determination, so full of intent you can feel it around her like heat. When she’s tired she talks about Cosima’s cure, and if Alison’s doing okay as school trustee, and how they must need her. Sleep-slur, as if she can only talk about it in the safe space between waking and dreaming.

“I know,” Helena says. She knows, realistically, that Sarah should. Go back. Sarah is the best thing, the bravest thing, the brightest thing, and her going back would be the best thing for Sarah’s sisters. But here in the snow she is only Helena’s sister, and she’s _happy_. She kisses Cal through smiles, she builds snowmen with Kira that are eaten up by the snowfall the next day. They all play cards. They all let Kira win every game. It’s the first time Helena’s ever been—

The kettle starts hissing, and Sarah sleepily stumbles to her feet to turn it off before the wailing wakes the rest of her family. “Gimme your mug,” she says.

“I did not finish it,” Helena says.

“You’re making me sick with that,” Sarah says, and if she was more awake it would sound joking but she’s tired, so it sounds mean. Helena doesn’t mind. It sounds more true. “Give it here.”

Helena stands up, pulls her blanket-cape tighter around herself, and gives Sarah the mug. When Sarah dumps it in the sink it falls out with a very solid-sounding splatter. Maybe Helena put too much sugar in it. _Maybe_.

“Gross,” Sarah mutters, and refills the mug. She adds three spoonfuls of sugar to the tea she pours and stirs it twice. Helena sucks in a breath through her nose very slowly so it doesn’t make her want to cry. Three stirs is too much and two spoonfuls of sugar is not enough to make it sweet. Sarah knows; Sarah knows her.

Sarah makes her own mug and the two of them head over to the couch and huddle together under the blanket. Sarah’s cold knees jab into Helena’s knees. It’s so wonderful. Helena didn’t even know that she could be this happy. She just – didn’t know.

“Tell me I should—” Sarah murmurs, and then stops. She drinks her tea.

“Stay,” Helena says selfishly.

“For Kira,” Helena says, and that is cruel, and it does not stop her for saying it anyways.

“For Kira,” Sarah echoes, like the easy call-and-response of prayer. She leans against Helena’s side again. Helena watches Sarah as she takes sips of her own sweet tea. It’s only because she’s watching her so closely that she can tell the exact moment Sarah falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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